Diamonds are Forever
by Peyt4Luke4eva
Summary: The atmosphere tenses between them. He sadly marvels at the fact that he, the con artist, and the white collar bounty hunter may have more in common than he would have ever thought possible. Neal/Sara - possible spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Reposted 02/17/11 with a special thank you to mam711 for beta-ing the chapter for me.

**Diamonds Are Forever**

**Chapter 1 – Ashes and Wine**

_We're all prisoners in our own worlds, all captors of our own making._

The sun's just beginning to set down upon the New York cityscape as Neal Caffrey steps out of the car. The fading orange rays give way to a graying night, and Neal sucks in a deep breath while he stares up at the white bay-windowed building. The lavish and exclusive apartments located on 8602 2nd Street, Park Slope, Brooklyn are home to Sara Ellis.

In all the chaos of the day Neal managed slip away from the office before Peter could replace the electronic tracker to Neal's ankle. Seizing the opportunity, and with the FAA package still very much in the forefront of his mind, Neal thought he might chance a trip out of his two mile radius.

This is not the place he thought he'd end up again that night but he's here all the same.

Their pasts meant that the two had got off on the wrong foot. He'd enticed the young insurance investigator five years ago, and she'd repaid him in kind as she'd testified against him in his trial. She had been more than happy to see him behind bars.

Now as luck would have it, she's come into his life once again. She'd returned with every intention of recovering the stolen Raphael. She pretty much hated him and he hadn't felt any love lost for the ruthless woman.

But by a twist of fate they'd been thrown back together. It had taken an attempt on her life and her staying at the FBI's offices for them to grow closer. He'd found himself almost enjoying her company. They've begun a tentative acquaintance. He's not sure he can call it a friendship just yet. But she'd ended their day together by saving his life. And she didn't seem to hate him.

And now he's standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at the golden light of her window. He's holding the ingredients to make a homemade soup in his hands. He doesn't know truly what he's doing back here. He hopes idly that their shared joke will allow him entry into her home and evade her suspicions. He hopes that the real reason for visiting once again won't be too transparent.

He tells himself that he's here for one reason and one reason only. And it's the truth. He's here for Kate. He's there because he can't let her go. He's there because he needs to know the truth as to why the one woman he loved had to be taken from him. It's those answers he seeks that get him through the day now. And it's that quest that has brought him here.

He is determined to find whoever took Kate away.

He climbs the steps into the building and finds his way easily up to Apartment No.1. He raps the white wooden door with his knuckles and listens to the tapping of heels before she clicks the lock open.

"Neal Caffrey," Sara speaks with a mild sense of amusement and surprise. She answers the door wearing jeans and a stylish, designer top. She always looks immaculate even when she's having what is supposed to be a quiet night in.

"Good evening, Sara," he replies with a flash of his beaming, white smile.

"This is the second time this week that you've shown up at my apartment at night and unannounced."

Neal smirks back. "Well at least this time you're not pointing a gun at my face."

She returns a wan grin. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you something." He motions down at the brown bags he has cradled in his hands. "I thought I could make you that soup. And we could maybe celebrate you coming back from the dead."

She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and stares at him quizzically, but she says nothing.

"Come on- my cooking has to be better than snacks from the office's vending machines."

She almost can't believe that this man wants to cook for her. Up until very recently she wouldn't have even thought to invite Neal Caffrey into her home but she invites him in nonetheless.

"Here, let me help you with some of those." She reaches to take one of his grocery bags before she leads him into a spacious and pristine kitchen.

"Wow, nice place you've got here." He settles his brown paper bags and begins to retrieve the vegetables and stock from them.

"Thank you." She throws him another look of curiosity as she supplies him with chopping boards and a knife.

"How's your wine selection?" he asks.

"I prefer scotch," she utters simply.

Neal smirks at her response. She's probably the first woman he's known in a long while who favors hard liquor. He brandishes a bottle of rare, vintage Burgundy from the bag, the one that Mozzie hasn't managed to find.

"I'll get some glasses," Sara says with a little kink of her eyebrow to indicate she's impressed with his choice.

She takes the bottle from him and taps over to the drawers to pull out the bottle opener. She unscrews and pulls out the cork, before pouring them both a drink. She returns and sets his glass aside while he begins to cut up his ingredients. Her eyes fall to his skilled chopping and she tastes the first sip of the crisp, refined alcohol.

"You certainly know your way around the kitchen, Caffrey."

"I've had a lot of practice." He dices the onion quickly and expertly. He then lights a pan over the stove and throws the onion in, along with a knob of butter.

"Cooking for women?"

"Not exactly." He begins to cut and toss in the rest of the vegetables. She takes another sip of wine as she watches him.

x-x-x

"This is pretty good soup," she says as they sit together at her dining table bathed in candlelight.

At her compliment he returns a large, knowing smirk. "Don't sound so surprised. I told you that I made a mean soup."

She smiles absent-mindedly; he could still be charming when he wanted to be.

"Do you still play?" He directs his head towards the large wooden instrument perched in the dim corner of the living area. He recalls how the two of them had first met at a recital held at Carnegie Hall. She'd been quite the talented cellist and she'd captured his eye even before he'd known who she was.

Her hazel eyes move to the object in question, the antique cello. "No, I don't play as much."

"That's a shame. You were good." He guesses she's filled up her days with work only.

Sara brushes the silken dark locks from her face but doesn't offer another word on the subject.

Neal swallows his final mouthful of broth before he decides to change tack. "So how does it feel to have your life back?"

"Good," her long fingers wrap back around the stem of her wine glass. "I'll be back at work tomorrow and everything will return back to normal."

She doesn't sound as convincing as she normally does. That strength and certainty is missing from her tone of voice. It reminds him of their makeshift meal on top of the FBI's roof where she'd been angry that her 'passing' hadn't made the world stop and so much of noticed that she was gone.

"Normal's good though, right?" he probes lightly and she avoids his gaze. "Least you don't have to breathe in that stale air."

"Right. Of course. Everything spirals back on as normal." She takes a measured sip of wine. She thinks back to her talk with Peter, to how she's been feeling since faking her own death. She's a workaholic and she knows it. It's only recent events that have left her questioning whether she's truly happy with her choices.

"I guess it's hard to come back after you've realized there's no one left in your life to miss you and to care," Neal says.

He thinks he's referring to the parents she's admitted she's lost, to the family he knows she doesn't have. But now with those words out there in the dining room, all he can think of is Kate. He tries to focus all his energies into investigating her death in order to combat his grief. But sometimes that grief wins and gets the better of him.

"Neal?" Sara stirs him from those dark thoughts by calling him by his first name.

He responds only by taking a large gulp of alcohol and it trickles down his throat bitterly.

"Did you lose someone?" she asks.

She directs the question at him, but her fingers play absentmindedly with the diamond pendant around her neck. He remembers he's never not seen her wearing it. She wore it the first time they ever met at the concert hall. She'd worn it when she testified against him five years ago. And she'd worn it that night he'd come to kill her.

"Neal?"

He furrows his brow; he doesn't want to get into the subject. That's after all the very reason as to why he's there with her tonight; to find out answers to so many of his niggling questions.

Her eyes are fixed on him. He sees the shadows of recognition.

"Who did you lose?" he mutters.

The atmosphere between them tenses and he sadly marvels at the fact that he, the con artist, and the white collar bounty hunter may have more in common than he would have ever thought possible.

She sets down her soup spoon and he reaches for his glass of Burgundy. Neither wants to have this conversation, certainly not with each other.

"Would you excuse me?" Sara pulls herself up from the plush dining room chair not waiting for his answer. Her heels clack on the wooden flooring, and carry her down the corridor and out of his sight.

As she leaves to use the bathroom, he pulls himself up from the chair and makes his way over to her desk. She still has her pile of mail stacked high. He notes that she's opened the ones that she deemed important, while the others remain intact.

He hears movement from the room down the hall and he quickens his search. He needs the package this time. He flicks the brown and white packets with a quickening pace.

"Caffrey?"

Neal's form stiffens. His fingers secure themselves around the large brown package that he's been searching for and he groans inwardly. She's caught him red handed. 'Perfect timing' springs to mind.

"What are you doing?" she asks as he remains silent and hunched over her stack of envelopes. She's reminded all over again of who he is. He's been in prison and she cannot trust him.

"I..."

Her keen eyes trail from his eyes to what he's touching at with the tips of his fingers. She frowns, her gaze travels back to meet his surprised gaze. He's a known thief no matter how much he protests otherwise; it irritates her that he seems to have reverted to form. He's confirmed her belief that he was once a con man and may very well always be a con man.

"What do you want from me?" She's demanding answers from him now. She curses herself for believing she could trust him. He'd begun to fool her all over again.

He holds up the still-unopened pack sent from the FAA. Honesty has never been his first method but maybe it would work better here with this woman. "I need something from you."

Her hands come to rest firmly on her hips before she speaks. "Start talking, Caffrey."


	2. Chapter 2

Reposted 02/17/11 with a special thank you to mam711 for beta-ing the chapter for me.

**Diamonds are Forever**

**Chapter 2 – Resistance**

_The truth is precious and long sought after; it can set us free or it can send our world crashing down into ruins around us._

April 20, 2005

Neal climbs out of the yellow cab and stands on the sidewalk in the glitzy area of Midtown Manhattan. The light spring rains fall, blotting against the black fabric of his tux. He sucks in a breath and stares up at the marvelous structure in front of him; the Isaac Stern Auditorium. He gazes at the grand building of Carnegie Hall. His keen blue eyes wander over the narrow Roman bricks; with the small and delicate detailing etched in terracotta and brownstone, it is remarkable. He appreciates the beauty and the craftsmanship; he's in awe of the architects' work.

He thinks of his girlfriend, Kate; she's always held a wild fascination with the Italian Renaissance and he knows she would've loved to have seen this. But she's sitting at home in their tiny, one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. She's unaware of what he's doing here tonight; it's easier for her that way. Of course she knows he's a thief and a con. She's accepted that much of the man he is. But she prefers not to know the specifics of what he's doing, and he prefers to keep her in the dark about his exploits. With the FBI closing in on his every move he knows the less she knows, the better it is for them in the long run.

He brushes those thoughts far away. He places the fedora to his head and straightens his jacket. He's here to work tonight. He's primed to play the part of Nick Halden. He's here for a job; he passes through the entrance and flashes his ticket and a charming, white smile at the attendant before he enters the concert hall.

Neal climbs to the very top balcony to meet his associate, the plush carpeting squashing beneath his feet. He climbs the hundred and thirty-seven steps; he counts them in his head because he knows his girlfriend would have done so. His ears tingle with the delicate melody flowing from the stage below. The string quartet is playing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It's one of Kate's favorites, Neal thinks with a little smile gracing his lips.

Once at the pinnacle of the venue, Neal settles into his seat. His eyes trace over the high, vaulted ceilings and grand interiors. The white and gold detailing of the concert hall is simply breathtaking.

He's completely awestruck.

His eyes trail back towards the stage, to the musicians. He rests his palms down upon the edge of the tier. His sight immediately locks to the woman with the long, tumbling locks and the dazzling smile she wears while she is lost to the melody. He's always been one to quickly identify an extraordinarily beautiful woman from a throng of people. But more than that; he's always been one so completely absorbed and in love with the Arts and the Classics that he can spot a fellow idealist from a crowd.

All his attentions focus upon the cellist. She cradles the vast instrument so delicately. Her movements flow exquisitely and almost unconsciously along with the music.

Neal's attentions are so fixated on the brunette playing the cello that he doesn't notice as Mozzie sits down beside him and he clears his throat loudly to get Neal's attention.

Neal's eyes pull from the musicians and over to the little man shaking off his rain-splattered trench coat. Mozzie lays the garment at the back of his chair and smiles at the elderly woman he's just disturbed.

"You're late, Moz," Neal utters.

"Good evening, Mr. Halden," Mozzie says meeting his eyes with a knowing smile.

"Mr. Haversham," Neal says with a nod. He knows by now to play along with Mozzie's paranoia. Mozzie's over-secretive with his identity, so much so that Neal doesn't know his real name after all this time. "What have you got for me?"

"That's your young lady," Mozzie points back down, with a flicker of a finger, back in the direction of the stage.

It takes Neal a moment to process what the man is saying. "Her?" he questions under his breath. "The cellist?"

"That's Sara Ellis, Sterling Bosch's newest insurance investigator," Mozzie confirms with a nod of his head before he moves in closer. "My sources confirm that she's been poking around, asking a lot of questions. She's the one looking into the stolen Raphael, Neal."

"Of course she is," Neal chuckles. Neal knows it's not just Sterling Bosch chasing after him now; his latest exploits have Agent Peter Burke and the FBI also knocking on his door unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

He honestly doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that his target is the woman he's been watching. He's learned quickly in his line of work that it's best not to mix business with pleasure; sure it's fun; but it's got him into trouble many times before. But this woman doesn't look like a shrewd investigator, and certainly not Sterling Bosch's finest. She looks young and too caught up in the splendor of the music. She doesn't seem to be someone driven by money and greed.

"So what's your plan?" Mozzie asks.

Neal doesn't answer the question. He merely shakes his head and offers a confident grin. He's Neal Caffrey, and charming the beautiful women of New York is what he does best.

x-x-x

After the concert Neal waits to introduce himself to her. He cradles the stem of the wine glass in his hand and he watches discreetly from across the room. She's smiling brightly and conversing with various ladies and gentlemen of the Upper East Side. She spies him looking at her, and she raises her champagne towards him in an unspoken gesture and grins.

His plan is simple: approach the enemy before she comes for him.

Neal orders another two glasses of champagne. She knows he's been watching her all night and he can work with that. Seducing the rich and powerful is a delicious sport he's come to enjoy. He turns around from the bar, with his fingers curled around the two champagne flutes and a smile that's all business.

He hadn't planned for the man with the chiseled jaw line and Italian good looks to steal her attentions away. Her smiles are only for the man who cradles her hand in his own before kisses her cheek.

Sara breaks away from the crowds, letting the tall man, with dark eyes, lead her away from people and to somewhere more private. Neal doesn't follow them, at least not all the way. He waits a few idle seconds before he peels from the room and trails after them discreetly; they've disappeared into a small alcove and he waits in the brightly-lit lobby.

Their rendezvous is short lived; the man returns from the small, secluded area and leaves the auditorium in a quick flourish. Neal moves to the balcony to find his target alone. She's standing and gripping the metal railing as she stares silently out over the twinkling cityscape.

She's vulnerable and he knows he shouldn't approach her, not now. He's already turning on his heel and planning to 'meet' her another time.

"Excuse me, Mr.-?" She's the one that calls him back.

"I'm sorry," he utters apologetically and pulls the cigarette from his jacket pocket. "I was just looking for a place to smoke this. Filthy habit, I know."

She smiles lightly in reply and runs a hand through her chestnut hair.

"Would you like me to leave? I shouldn't really be smoking this anyway."

"No, stay, please." She draws the satin-smooth wrap around her shoulders. "The least you can do is tell me your name."

"Nick Halden," he extends his hand towards the woman.

"Sara." Her flawlessly-manicured fingers come to shake his hand and she offers him her pretty smile. "Is that for me?" she points to the remaining flute. He nods and passes the drink to her. She downs its contents in one. She sets the glass down onto the metal barrier and stares down at the racing traffic below.

"I enjoyed your performance very much," he tells her and he means it.

"Thank you."

"Can I buy you a drink?" He extends the offer after he spies the tiny goose pimples gradually appearing on her bare arms.

"I'd like that." She seems eager to forget earlier events and lets him lead her back to the bar.

"Same again?"

"Please," Sara settles on to a high stool, crossing her legs and smoothing down the material of her skirt. She lets a faint bell of laughter rise from her throat when Neal clinks their glasses together. She takes a sip, her long lashes flutter down.

Neal spies the three men walking toward them from over the woman's shoulder; the mood is spoiled and he inwardly groans.

"Neal Caffrey?" Agent Peter Burke asks questioningly as he approaches the pair of them.

Neal can only flash a shiny, devilish smile; this tenacious FBI guy is quickly becoming a thorn in Neal's side. His cover is broken and Sara's gaze cools towards him. She knows immediately who he is and why he's chosen to talk with her.

"Agent Burke, always a pleasure," Neal says charmingly though he inwardly curses the man's persistence.

"Excuse me," Sara slides off her stool and her hand catches hold of her purse. She throws the newcomer a look before she hurries away.

"Mr. Neal Caffrey," Peter utters and he's all business. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"I see you've brought company," Neal's eyes move to the tall, bulky agents at Peter's flank. Peter is asking the con man to come willingly and without a fuss, but he has the muscle backing him if Neal doesn't choose to comply.

"If you could come with us," Peter requests dryly.

"Why not," Neal murmurs. He drains the remaining contents of his glass and stands to his feet. "Lead the way."

x-x-x

Present day

Sara stands in front of the brightly-lit mirror in her bathroom. The tips of her fingers blend the tan-colored powder to the corner of her eyes. Once she's satisfied with her handiwork she takes a step back. A sigh passes her lips as a fragile attempt to regain her composure. She eyes the darkened circles with a mild scrutiny; this week has taken its toll on her and what she really needs is a good night's rest.

She smoothes down the silk of her shirt and stares back at her reflection. Her father, when he was alive, had raised her to be strong. He wouldn't tolerate her tears or her self-doubt. She'd done everything right; she knows she would've made him proud.

She's struggled to move on with her life after the death of her father; being that she was independent and over-achieving even at school, her daddy was the only one who truly understood her. Her father was always her closest friend and confidant. She thinks she's done a pretty good job living the life they'd always wanted for her. She's respected and successful at Sterling Bosch. Some might even say feared but that didn't matter. She's risen up the ranks quickly; she's shown herself to be shrewd and determined, and she's landed herself a promotion and a big office before she's even turned thirty.

She's still young and yet she has all the wealth and possessions that she desires. She tells herself that her momentary lapse is due to the fact that she's merely tired. She's come back from the dead, as it were, and is feeling introspective.

And she thinks maybe Neal Caffrey has something to do with her confusion. He's in her apartment, he's cooked for her and their conversation has stirred memories that she'd much rather forget. The young con man, with his dashing good looks, clouds her judgment.

She hates that any man could possess this effect over her; but especially one that's so conniving and one that represents everything she loathes within society. He manipulated the law to his own advantage and has now, somehow, become an associate within the FBI.

And one that, regrettably, has slipped through her fingers once before.

She flicks off the bathroom light and steps back along the quiet corridors and into the living area. She feels anger and irritation swell in the pit of her stomach at the sight before her.

"Caffrey?" Her voice is both stern and shrill even in her own ears. She shouldn't be surprised that she's caught him in the act of doing what he does best. He's a thief, and now his body is frozen. He doesn't speak for a moment; he's bent over her desk and he's holding onto something.

"What are you doing?" she demands from him. "What do you want from me?" He's here and he's used her for some hidden purpose. She wants answers from the one man, she's smart enough to know, that she doesn't really trust.

"I need something from you," Neal replies.

She shakes her head in disbelief. He sounds almost earnest in his request. But she knows better than to trust him. "Start talking, Caffrey."

Sara moves in closer and rests her hands firmly at her hips. He's good, he's deceptive and she knows that from past experiences. Working together on the Halbridge case had made her want to give him the benefit of the doubt. His kindness towards her did make her want to see him in a different light. His sweet words and slick attempts to charm her could have worked, as reluctant as she was to admit it. But she knows how good he is at fooling people into lowering their defenses and she's not about to give this man an inch.

"This isn't what it looks like," he begins. She's watching him intently and he knows she doesn't believe him.

"It looks like you're stealing from me," she bites with annoyance.

"Right, well, I can explain" he says and tries to keep the regret and irritation of getting caught in the act from showing. He's always been so quick, so slick in his operations; now either he's losing his touch or she's even more conniving than he'd thought. Or maybe today just isn't his day.

"This ought to be good," she snipes back.

Neal sets down the unopened package to try to appease that murderous look in her eyes. He pushes the FAA's envelope into the middle of the table, but his gaze never truly leaves the only source of answers and truth.

"Listen, Sara," he says smoothly. "There appears to have been a misunderstanding between myself and the airport's security official. This is evidence for a case I'm working on and it appears that there's been some kind of a mix-up."

"You're lying." Whatever he is doing here is personal and they both know it. "You used my name and my contacts to get what you wanted." There was no other explanation as to why she was involved and she lets her eyes meet with his own, daring for him to tell her that she's wrong.

"Does Peter know about this?" she asks idly when he doesn't speak. She should call the FBI agent; Peter Burke seems to be the only person who can keep this man in check. She's too tired from the last couple of days to want to deal with Neal's deviousness and would much prefer to have Peter take this one.

"Do you think I'd be here if he did?" Neal shoots back and she holds her retort at the very tip of her tongue.

"What's so important with this parcel?" she asks out of curiosity.

"It's a long story," he answers quickly. "But I need it."

"Good night, Neal." She's done. She picks up the package and moves towards the door.

"Sara." He doesn't know what else to say, he just knows he can't leave empty-handed.

She only turns the handle and pulls open the door open. Her gaze is steeled over. She's done with his crap and she's letting him know it. And yet he can't let it go.

"You asked me before if I'd lost someone," Neal says unsurely. Since the moment he'd first met her, they've always played games. They've always kept their agendas close and well hidden for the most part. They've been careful in how much of their lives they disclose to one another. But this time, if he wants the envelope she's holding onto, he knows he's going to have to give a little away. "Well, I did, and that package that you're holding may contain her last words."

Sara listens to his admission. Her hands cradle the parcel closely to her chest, and Neal Caffrey, the smiling con man, holds her gaze firmly. Only this time he isn't smiling and his mind isn't constantly turning behind his eyes coming up with some elaborate excuse or lie to tell. This time he's only selling the truth behind those wonderful eyes.

This is, in fact, the most honest she's ever seen him.

"I hope that you find what you are looking for," she states lightly. She pushes the brown envelope over the desk towards him.

For a moment he only stares down at it. He doesn't know what to do with it.

_She smiled more back then._

He picks up the package as the thought occurred to him. Her hazel eyes meet with his and he only sees a look of understanding. He hadn't meant to drag her into his quest, he really hadn't, but he needs to know the truth. And in his search both their masks have fallen and the sharpness of truths unspoken have filtered through the cracks.

"Sara?"

"You can leave now," she opens the door with a click. She watches the flickers of protest on his face but he thinks better than to argue.

_To reach for answers while drowning in a sea of grief is only natural. Instinctively we try to make sense of why the bad things happen, of why our loved one was snatched so cruelly and senselessly away. We hope the truth will make sense of tragedy and offer a light in the painful darkness._

Sara pours the last of the wine into her glass once he's left the apartment. She idly hopes he finds the answers and the truth. She hopes that he can make sense of things and find some semblance of closure.

Her fingers unconsciously move to the circle encrusted with diamonds.

_But what if the truth doesn't bring the peace to our souls that we believed it would?_

Neal leaves Sara's apartment and walks the starry night streets of Brooklyn. His fingers curl and grip tightly at his prize. The day has ended with a small triumph and he holds the piece of the puzzle in his leather-gloved hand. He thinks idly that he would've been feeling something; if not happy, then at least relieved that he may finally get some answers. He thought that he would have felt some sort of glimmer of hope.

But he doesn't.

Instead he feels the uncertainty spread within him.

He makes it to June's lavish town home and up to his own living space. He finds Mozzie sipping at his vintage wine and hunched over the dining room table. He's staring dully over their postponed chess game. Neal steps forward without a word and he sets the unopened package down on the table. Mozzie's keen eyes take in the captured prize. He looks up with a triumphant smile, which soon gives way to questions.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note - Thank you to everyone for their feedback on my story. I noticed some people did bring up my long gaps in updating, I am planning on being a lot better this year. I have a busy school schedule, as I'm in my final year of university but will try for at least bi weekly updates so as not to keep you waiting too long. I know this gap has been longer because I have been sick but I promise I am trying.

I'd also like to say a very special thank you to mam711 for all her work beta-ing for me.

**Diamonds are Forever**

**Chapter 3 – Only the Lonely**

_In learning the truth we hope to make sense of tragedy and find salvation in a world that seems cast to darkness. But what if truth doesn't bring the peace to our souls that we believed it would? Are we doomed to a lifetime of pain and regret? Is there hope for redemption?_

Neal stands at the counter in the coffee shop. He smiles brightly at the young barista as she passes over his coffee in return for a handful of dollar bills. She flutters her long, gold lashes at him while wishing him a good day at the office and telling him she'll see him the same time tomorrow. With a bob of his head Neal peels away from the queue of business people waiting to purchase their much-needed morning fix and steps to join Mozzie on the sunny sidewalk.

"So might I ask if you've listened to the tape yet?" Mozzie inquires with a sideways glance. He's broached the subject every day for the past week, ever since Neal came back from Sara Ellis's apartment with the flight recording.

"I haven't got around to it yet," Neal repeats the same, tired excuse from the day before and expects that to be the end of it. But this time, on this fine morning, Mozzie doesn't let the matter rest.

"So let me get it straight, you go to all the trouble of visiting the lovely Ms. Ellis, who pointed a gun at you, I might add. You cook her dinner. You try to lift the package without her noticing, and you get caught stealing the package." Neal casts the little balding man a look as Mozzie recaps the course of events. "But she gives it to you anyway. And now you're stalling? Why?"

"I will open it, Moz," he mutters with faint certainty. "In time."

Neal takes a sip of sharp, bitter espresso. His mind travels back to the package he's storing behind a false slat in the wall. He doesn't really know why he's stalling as Mozzie puts it. Each and every morning for the past seven days he's woken up to the amber hue of morning, pouring in through the skylight, and the yearning to know the truth.

"Neal, this is me you're talking to," his friend reminds him. They've known each other for too long now to be able to fool one another; they've been through everything together.

"You weren't there, Moz. You didn't see it happen." Neal can't forget the howling explosion; the wild, unyielding flames or the emptiness he's felt since the day he lost what meant everything to him. He's discovered true and aching loneliness that he now combats every day even though he pretends that he's doing just fine.

"I witnessed the aftermath, figuratively and literally," Mozzie counters, and Neal knows that he's right.

Mozzie stops in the street and turns to face him, ignoring the irritated glances commuters throw as they now navigate past them. He wears a look of sincerity, "Look, when you're ready to listen..."

"You'll be there," Neal finishes the sentence and there isn't a shadow of doubt in his mind that he will have this man's support.

"Yes."

Neal nods his head in way of appreciation before he turns to the FBI offices they're standing in front of. "I should go, find out what case Peter's got us working on."

Mozzie nods, "tell the suit I said hi. I'm going to have breakfast and while away a few hours with a good book."

x-x-x

Neal steps out of the elevator and in through the shining glass doors and into the office. He flashes a smile to Clinton Jones who is busy working while hunched over his computer. He saunters over to Peter who's standing in the center of the open-plan space.

"Good morning," he says in a jovial tone. He finds he's actually happy that Peter's called him in to begin a new case and offer a fresh distraction.

Peter smiles thinly and offers a return of the pleasantry but his attentions are elsewhere. Neal follows the older man's captivated gaze towards Hughes's office.

"What's Sara doing here?" Neal asks as he spies Sara sitting behind the transparent panes and talking with Peter's boss.

"I don't know," Peter replies with a dubious look in Neal's direction.

"I didn't do anything." He holds up his hands in an elaborate gesture to plead his innocence. He knows Edgar Halbridge is tucked away somewhere, awaiting trial, so that can't be it. He does wonder momentarily whether Sara has come to make a formal complaint against him following the events of the other night. They hadn't left on the best of terms and he wouldn't put much past the woman who has an axe to grind. Those suspicious thoughts soon fall away as he notices a third person in the room.

"Who's that?" Neal asks as movement stirs within the office.

Peter puffs out a short, sharp breath before filling in, "That's Agent Alan Grayson, from the Department of Justice."

"What does the Department of Justice want with Sara?"

Peter holds back his reply and quietly surveys the scene unfolding above them. Neal's brow furrows; he knows that the DOJ being there isn't routine. Peter's pensive expression does nothing to appease Neal's curiosity. He focuses on the unknown agent who marches out of Hughes's office.

Grayson carries himself not only with an air of power and authority but also with an over-encompassing ego that Neal isn't altogether sure he likes. The stiff, burly man with the short, immaculate haircut and the broad shoulders looks like the stereotypical Fed who Mozzie would have mocked. And he notices Sara's somewhat ruffled appearance. She's dressed confidently but her eyes betray her. He can see the dark shadows beneath them. She follows Hughes and Grayson down the small flight of stairs and Peter moves quickly forward to meet them.

"Agent Burke," Grayson nods in greeting and he extends his hand, "always a pleasure."

"Likewise," Peter doesn't sound very convincing.

Agent Grayson turns his attentions back to Sara. "Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Ellis. Here's my card. If you think of anything further let me know."

Sara takes the object with a quick flourish and a tight smile. The contempt she holds for him tells Neal she won't be calling or cooperating with the Department of Justice any more than she must.

"Gentlemen," Grayson moves to leave.

"I'll walk you out," Hughes says and the two move towards the door.

Once the two have disappeared from sight, Sara places the card quickly into the depths of her oversized purse. She's ready to go; she's under scrutiny from Neal and the agents who seem to have abandoned what they were doing to cast looks in her direction.

"Sara, a moment," Peter steers her away from Neal and the curious looks from his peers clustered around the coffee machine.

"Is everything all right?" he asked once they're out of earshot.

"Everything's fine," she attempts with a faint assurance and folds her arms to her chest.

"If you need anything..." he extends the offer gently with a meaningful look.

"Thank you, Peter," Sara smiles the glimmers of a genuine smile at Peter's gesture; they've called in favors from each other in the past. "I should go. I have a ten o'clock appointment."

"Of course," Peter watches as Sara's heels carry her away to the elevator and Neal approaches him.

"What was that about?" Neal asks his partner curiously.

Peter shakes his head to indicate that the topic of conversation is closed. He straightens the jacket of his classic suit before he collects the new case files from where he'd left them on Jones's desk. His head is inclined and he's already flipping through the pages. "This case should be of interest to you. Aaron Fields; suspected of forging..."

"Well, if we're in for a busy day why don't I just go out and pick us up some more coffee."

Peter is about to say that that would be nice, but he immediately catches that waywardness dancing behind Neal's eyes, and it divulges the true intentions of the consultant's gesture.

"I'll be right back." He dashes towards the elevator.

"Neal!" The chastising voice of Peter sounds from behind him but Neal chooses to ignore it.

"Hold the elevator," Neal calls out, sprinting past the glass entrance and bracing a hand against the thick metallic doors to stop them from closing.

His voice startles Sara and she lifts her gaze in time to watch Neal Caffrey pinch his way into the space before the heavy doors slide shut.

'_Oh for God's sake_,' she curses in a low breath. Playing a game of conversational racquetball is not what she had in mind. She watches as he settles beside her, fedora perched on his head and she hates herself for noticing he's probably the only man she's ever known who's able to carry off the look.

"Neal," she drawls coldly. She lets him know immediately she's in no mood to talk to him.

Neal places his hands idly into the depths of his pockets and he watches as Sara's eyes fix onto an imaginary spot on the wall. She's mad at him and attempts to ignore him, though there's nothing new there.

"Listen, Sara, about the other night…"

Before he can even finish his sentence the small space lurches to an abrupt halt. She teeters on her heels and both reach for the support of the cold wall.

"What's going on?" Her eyes trace about the area. "Why aren't we moving?"

"The elevator must have stopped." He moves to the control panel for closer inspection. "I'll call Cindy, she'll get us out."

"Who? What?" she says snippily.

"She works Reception on the ground floor," he explains while pulling away the panel from the wall.

"I have- I need to get out."

"I'm working on it, believe me." He's not exactly thrilled about being _forced_ into spending more time, and in such close proximity, with the woman who's chased him like a bloodhound.

"No! I have to get out of here."

Neal turns to look in her direction; she's pacing like a caged animal, her hands are shaking and her breathing is uneven and shallow.

"I can't be here," she murmurs erratically. Her fingers rumble at her tailored suit. "I need to get out of here."

"Sara?" He realizes she's claustrophobic. He moves carefully towards her; she's unpredictable at the best of times. He doesn't doubt for a moment that her baton and gun are both nestled in the depths of her purse.

"Is it hot in here?" Her hands shakily move to unbutton her jacket.

"Okay, Sara, look at me, breathe" he says as he attempts to soothe the woman who can point a gun at him with an unyielding stare but who crumbles at being trapped in a confined space.

She lets him move to stand beside her but her gaze is unfocused. She mutters a string of incoherent words.

"Sara, listen to me," he says, sharper this time. She offers a low murmur but he knows he's startled her enough to get her attention. He places a hand at the small of her back. "I need you to look at me. And I need you to breathe."

She rests her palm against his shirt and presses her eyelids together. She can feel his strong, reassuring touch curling at her waist. She listens to his voice, while attempting to control the rapid panic welling in her heart.

"I need to get out…" she hiccoughs.

"Just breathe," he whispers calmly. "In through the nose and out through the mouth."

Her grip slackens from his clothes and she manages to regulate her breathing. Her lashes are damp as they blink against the harsh, glowing lights.

"I need to sit down," she murmurs weakly. Her legs are numb and unstable, and she gladly sinks to the floor. She closes her eyes again and tries to envision a wide open field, one of the many exercises she's learned to combat her fear of small spaces. She can hear Neal's voice blurring in her ears as he calls down to Reception.

"Security will have us out of here as soon as they can," Neal says reassuringly after hanging up with Cindy.

Sara opens her eyelids and nods her head slightly indicating she's heard him but she doesn't speak. He moves the couple of short paces to where she's slumped against the wall. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she turns to watch him sit down beside her.

"You sure?" Her shoulders are still quivering just a little but her eyes are focused instead of glazed like they were not long before.

"I'm fine." She's quick to brush off his concerns though her voice still sounds tentative even to her own ears. Amongst the lingering anxiety still burning within her chest, she feels a little silly. It had to be _him_; she had to get trapped in an elevator with Neal Caffrey. She can't help but think someone somewhere is having a good laugh at her expense. The way he's looking at her bothers her; like she's weak and fragile, and needs to be taken care of. She hates it. And a lesson she'd learned early in life was not to show any signs of vulnerability, especially not to anyone she considers an adversary.

"Cindy's a good woman," Neal offers encouraging. "She'll have security on it as we speak."

"I hope so," she mutters and takes a deep breath.

"I should call my assistant," Sara murmurs the afterthought as realizes that she won't be making her ten o'clock appointment. She fumbles in her purse with a trembling hand and retrieves her cell. She runs a hand through her hair while she waits for her perky assistant Sandra to pick up and tries to ignore Neal's gaze of persisting concern.

He shrugs his crisp jacket off his body and lays it across his legs. He rests his head against the cold metal and takes a breath of stale air while Sara reschedules her meeting for tomorrow.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks when she hangs up.

"I'm just so sick of this building," Sara murmurs weakly and earns a small, crooked smile from him. She's already spent time under FBI protection and if she never sees the place again she'll be quite happy.

"You'll be fine. A man I used to know once told me how he locked himself in a vault overnight. He said it was a lot smaller than this, and no one knew he'd locked himself in." Neal tells her as he attempts to lighten the mood. "They know we're in here."

"I suppose there is that." Her eyes travel warily over the small space. She spent a couple of days hauled up in the FBI conference room and tries to convince herself this isn't much different. She reminds herself for the umpteenth time that her fear is irrational and she can't afford to let it control her.

She chuckles involuntarily. She doesn't even know why she's laughing; she guesses it's probably to relieve the niggling fears that are still very much at the front of her mind.

"What?" he inquires.

"Nothing, it's…" He's impossibly beautiful with those shining baby blue eyes. He's slick, charming and can have any woman he wants. She doesn't doubt that he's no stranger to these kinds of situations. "Being trapped in an elevator with a woman? I bet this happened to you before?"

"No. Actually this is the first." His gaze travels back towards the fluorescent lighting above.

"Yeah?" she questions. "Why do I doubt that?"

He really should have just let her comment fizzle out into the dense atmosphere. He had made up his mind a long ago that she was cold-hearted, only to discover recently that there is more beneath that lovely yet brittle surface. But she's so intent in burying her humanity with merciless bravado and sharp comments. And unfortunately she now seems to be getting beneath his skin.

"You're really convinced that I don't have a shred of integrity?" he accuses with annoyance. He may be a ladies' man and a flirt, he may appreciate a beautiful woman from afar, but that's it; that's as far as it goes. That's been it since he was sentenced to five years in prison. He's only been in love once; his thoughts have been occupied with Kate, and only Kate, for longer than he cares to remember.

"Have you ever given me a reason to think otherwise?" she challenges.

He sucks in the retort that readily surfaces up in his throat. He supposes that maybe all their past encounters indicate that he hasn't.

"I mean you steal a painting insured for millions but you get put away for forgery instead. You escape a maximum security prison but end up working alongside Peter Burke and the FBI."

"That bothers you, doesn't it? My working with Peter?"

"Hell, yes, it bothers me," she hisses with disdain. In truth it annoys the hell out of her. Neal Caffrey has always walked the wrong side of the law; and yet after being caught and tried, and _caught again,_ he ends up walking the streets of New York. And he gains the trust of one of the few people Sara herself looks up to. Sara trusts and respects Peter Burke, and by some twisted notion the two men work side by side as partners. She hates it and she'll never understand it.

"You break into my home and point a gun at me." Her hands curl and ball in fists.

Neal opens his mouth to plead his side of the case then but she cuts him off.

"Then after cozying up to me after I _invited_ you in to my home, you attempt to steal a package that is addressed to me…"

Neal turns to face her, frowning with irritation. Clearly Sara's feeling better and her sharp tongue gets the better of her. And it seems to get the better of him as well.

"Don't plead the innocent victim in all of this, Sara; I would never have shot you. You, on the other hand; well, I'm really not so sure about that. The theft of the Raphael was never proven and the whole fiasco with the package? Well, you know why I did that."

They both fall silent, quietly seething. Neal rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. There's too much ill feeling between them and being in such a little space only seems to add fuel to that fire.

"You really want to keep doing this?" He repeats the same question they've used over and over as their bickering and strong wills constantly get the better of them. "Especially since we're stuck in here together for the foreseeable future."

Sara shakes her head, "not really." Her day's gone from bad to worse and she's too tired to argue.

"Truce," he proposes and she agrees.

"I really hate this building," she jokes.

"I can think of better places to be," he says lightly with a grin.

"Yeah."

Silence fills the air and Sara's eyes travel across the sparse area. There's an air of anxiousness about her this morning and it had been present even before they stepped into the elevator. He's about to ask her what she's doing in the FBI offices and being questioned by DOJ, which was the original reason he had chased her into the elevator to begin with.

She beats him to the punch as she inquires casually, "Have you listened to the tape?"

He's quiet for a few fleeting seconds, but he answers with a simple, "no."

"Why not?"

"Peter's had me working pretty hard on a new case."

Sara throws him a meaningful look, letting him know that she's not buying his over-used and tired excuse.

"I don't know." He answers honestly with a shake of his head. He stares about the small, metal area and feels a little uncomfortable himself. There's really no room for games; while they're stuck here together it's just him, her and the stark, bare walls.

"What happened, Neal?"

"That's a long story, and it's complicated." His eyebrows furrow a little. It's one that he's still so unwilling to divulge or even recount. He blocks as much of that day out of his mind as possible. At night his feelings catch up with him and haunt him in the darkness of his dreams.

"What happened to her?" she tries again. "To Kate?"

"How much do you know?" It's his turn to ask the questions. He hasn't gone into specific details with her. He'd never once mentioned Kate's name to Sara. He doubts Peter would have or even that Sara would have been bold enough to contact Peter to ask.

"I know that she was your girlfriend when you were in prison," she explains to appease his curiosity. She remembers Kate Moreau clearly from Neal's trial; Kate had sat quiet and mournful behind the defendant's table. "I know that you escaped a maximum security prison to look for her. I know that she died in an explosion."

"You've been looking into me?"

"I did a little research," Sara confirms. "I called the FAA, considering the package was sent to me in the first place."

He doesn't know if he should be concerned or curious; the last time Sara Ellis looked into him, she ended up on the witness stand testifying against him.

Sara licks her dry lips before she opens her mouth to try again. She suspects as the investigation carries on in the background that Kate Moreau's death can't have been an accident. And she knows from the shadows of resignation that the tragedy has left its mark deeply in Neal Caffrey. "Who killed her, Neal?"

"I don't know," he says regretfully.

Sara purses her lips together after hearing his answer. She watches as he stares at the blank walls while he seems so lost in his own thoughts.

"You should listen to it," she states, breaking the hollowed quiet. "Whatever it says or wherever it leads you, you need to hear it."

Neal brushes a hand through his hair; she's probably right. He needs to know the truth. He's been avoiding listening to the tape and hearing Kate's final words. It all feels too real and too final.

"Do you feel that?" Neal's eyes sparkle. The elevator cranks and stirs back to life and they're travelling downwards. "We're moving."

"Oh thank God," Sara mutters with a sigh of relief.

Neal stands before he lends a hand and helps her up to her feet. "Well, would you look at that, we survived being trapped in here together and we didn't kill each other."

"Imagine that," she flashes a genuine smile and straightens her pencil skirt.

They finally make it to the ground floor, and the thick doors roll mercifully open. Sara eagerly steps out into the brightly-lit lobby with Neal following close behind her.

"Thank you, Neal," She allows herself to admit that he's been good company even if the subject matter was forged on difficult grounds. Being trapped and confronted by her phobia could have been a lot worse and she knows it.

"Sara Ellis is thanking the _alleged_ art thief?" he teases with that cheeky glint of a smile. "Wonders will never cease."

"Don't push it, Caffrey." She's extending her gratefulness to him, which is something she rarely does, especially to a man who has seen through the chinks in her armor.

"You're welcome then," he says with a nod to her gesture of gratitude.

"I should go," Sara balances her large purse on her arm. "Be careful with _that_ elevator on your way up."

"Oh, I think I'm going to take the stairs for the remainder of the day," he tells her.

She smiles softly; he really does have his moments. "Goodbye, Neal."

She turns and strides swiftly towards the sunny world outside. She plans on making a quick trip to the office to read her emails and listen to her messages. She has every intention of rescheduling her afternoon meeting and going home to sit on her balcony with a glass of wine. But something holds her back; he helped her back there and she guesses maybe she should help him with his dilemma.

"Neal?" she calls him back. She moves quickly before her own sense of self-preservation can talk her out of it. She feels that little flutter of her heart and it tells her she'll probably regret her act of compassion.

He turns from the heavy door leading to the stairwell and she's striding towards him. "Yeah?"

She meets him in the middle of the well-lit foyer and she levels her eyes to meet his own. She keeps her voice as calm and level as possible while she says what she needs to say. "Sometimes the not knowing is worse than anything else."

"Sara?"

"You owe it to Kate and to yourself to know the truth. You should listen to it," she tells him earnestly.

She turns to go, she's said her piece; she wants to leave before he has a chance to ask any questions of his own. Neal's hand comes to rest on her arm, stopping her retreat and pulling her gently back. As his very blue eyes stare searchingly into hers she can barely stand it. Her gaze travels to the shiny floor beneath her heels and Neal lets his touch drop from her jacket.

"Did you love him?" Neal doesn't know whether to expect an answer. But he chances the question that's lurked in the back of his mind ever since they'd shared soup at her apartment. Back inside her home he'd come to realize that they shared something other than mutual contempt. Her advice and the sadness echoing behind her hazel eyes only confirm his suspicions.

"Yes." She swallows hard, but her eyes do lift to meet with his. "Yes. I did."

"If you ever need a friend…" He has no idea if she'll ever take him up on the offer, and he has no idea if he'd even be ready to open up his own buried feelings with anyone. Since Kate's death he's been shutting Mozzie out and he's working behind Peter's back. He's barely been able to fathom his endless sea of grief and he's been doing everything he can to avoid having to deal with it. He just figures they're two people who can maybe make sense of the aching tragedy that's taken hold in both their lives. "Well, I have an extensive wine collection."

Sara feels a tiny smile play at her lips; in spite of the sad circumstances that tie them, Neal's extension of friendship penetrates through her defenses and makes her feel a little lighter inside. Peter told her just a matter of days ago that she needed to get a life, but she thinks what she really needs is a friend. She wants to thank him but her ego takes hold so she settles for the next best thing. "Maybe..."

"Neal," Peter's stern voice penetrates the atmosphere. Neal and Sara turn to see Peter stepping out of the elevator and he beckons with his fingers.

"I guess that's my cue." He places the fedora back to its place on his head.

"Yeah," Sara says as she turns her attentions back to the sidewalk but she meets his gaze one final time before she leaves. "See you around, Caffrey."

His partner wears a quizzical look on his face when he reaches Neal's side but he doesn't venture anything further on the matter. Instead Peter presents him with Aaron Fields' case file before the two head out of the building and to the car.


End file.
